Verisimilitude
by cdog0803
Summary: The illegitimate daughter of Renly Baratheon is an ideal match for the young Robb Stark. But it seems as though Alana is truly cursed with bad luck. Robb/OC
1. Chapter 1

**I was looking at my other story when I realized I had posted it about three months ago, and it made me feel really old. This something I've been working on for a while, and I guess now is as good a time as any to post it. It probably won't make a lot of sense, but the next chapter will help add context. This is more of a teaser. Enjoy.**

Prologue

The ground was coated with a thin layer of frost, which Alana could feel soaking through the bottom of her dress as it melted beneath her, her back to the weirwood tree and her feet at the edge of the lake. If anyone saw her, they'd think she was almost pouting. What a sight that would be, watching Lady Baratheon sulking on her own in the Godswood.

Lady Baratheon. That was all anyone but Renly would call her back at Storm's End. It used to make her ball up her fists and scowl, but she stop bothering to correct them a long time ago. The lesser noble or servant would just call her the same thing the next time they saw her. It was only Renly who ever called her Alana, only calling her Lady Baratheon when he was angry at her.

Cersei Baratheon, despite her marriage to Robert, would only go by "Queen Cersei" or "your grace," which made Alana the only living Lady Baratheon in all of Westeros. Even her name was unique. In just a week's time, she'd go from Lady Baratheon to Lady Stark. Lady Catelyn was already Lady Stark, and had been since before Alana was born. If you counted Robb's sisters, that made her the fourth Lady Stark. Then, after his brothers took wives, she'd be one of six Lady Starks. And she used to be one in a million. Nothing more than a commoner, now. The only thing that would set her apart would be the color of her hair and the Stark she was married to.

Another part of her nagged at her, saying she was not and never had been Lady Baratheon, that she really was a commoner, but she ignored it. Maybe she wasn't born Baratheon. Maybe it had been given to her, but it was as much a part of her as her night-black hair.

Snow crunched under a boot somewhere beside her, but she didn't turn her head. Go away, she thought. If it was Renly, he'd only apologize for not being able to persuade Robert, try to convince her to see the silver lining of her situation. If it was Robert, he'd tell her it was long overdue, and that she ought to grin and bear it, and do her duty to further the Baratheon name, even if she didn't have the Baratheon name, only had the Baratheon blood. Perhaps she ought to further the Storm name.

Someone, a man, cleared his throat, trying to get her attention. She kept her gaze on the surface of the lake. "Lady Baratheon." She could almost laugh from the irony. The voice was neither Robert's or Renly's, but Robb's. Her betrothed. She didn't move. "You'll freeze to death out here in that dress." Alana still didn't move. Robb sighed, and she could see the puff of white vapor out of the corner of her eye. "At least take my cloak," he said, and Alana could hear him rustling as he took it off.

"I don't want it." It was the first time she had spoken, and she sounded like a child, but she didn't care. He tossed his cloak onto her lap, ignoring her protests. As much as she wanted to toss it aside, it was thick fur, and it was still warm from him.

"Then don't wear it," he shot back. "But don't say it wasn't because I didn't offer." Neither moved nor spoke for several moments, and the only noise was the wind. "I didn't know you kept the old gods," he admitted, breaking the silence.

Alana shrugged. "I don't. But the Seven have never answered my prayers, and perhaps the Old Gods will do better."

"What did you pray for?" He asked. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. He had a wry smile on his face. "Did you pray your Uncle would break the betrothal? Or that maybe I'd fall ill and die."

"I prayed for freedom," she said, turning back to the lake. "The freedom to choose."

"I never asked for this marriage, and I know you didn't either. All I want is for a marriage with someone who doesn't hate me. A marriage that isn't like Robert and Cersei's." Alana stayed silent. "I can't ask you not to hate me."

"No," she agreed. They fell silent again, and the wind picked up. She could see her own breath. If it wasn't for her pride, she'd already be wearing Robb's cloak. Maybe after he left she'd put it on.

Finally, she heard the snow crunch under his feet as he walked away. The temperature seemed to drop, like she had shed a layer of clothing. She put her hand on the ground and stood up to put the cloak around her shoulders.

The sound of a scream froze her.

She looked up, and in the center of the lake was a young woman, barely a few years older than her, with hair as white as snow, her dress clinging to her body. She was thrashing in the water, desperately trying to keep her head above water.

Alana frowned. Was she spying on her? Maybe she fell out of the tree above the lake.

"Help!" the girl cried, sputtering and spitting out the water that filled her mouth when she opened it to speak.

The temperature was beyond cold now, like winter had come in the time since she left the castle this morning.

Alana stepped forward, her foot in the mud at the edge of the lake.

The last thing she registered before flying off balance into the lake was the feeling of two ice-cold hands pressed into her shoulder blades and pushing her forward, shoving her into the dark water.

Robb's cloak was pooled at the base of the tree, forgotten.

The water seemed to almost reach up at take her, grasp her into an invisible hug. It was cold, colder than anything she had ever felt before in her entire life. It was as though a blizzard had been turned into a pool.

She looked up, and through the water, growing more and more unclear as she sank deeper, was the outline of a man.

She couldn't say for sure, but it looked like he was grinning.

She closed her eyes as the icy talons of the water clawed at her.

She opened her mouth and let out her breath, the air rushing out in bubbles, and blacked out.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the feedback! I was surprised that only one person seemed to realize that Renly was only six years older than Robb. I'm changing things up a bit in my story. Renly is a little older (how much older is explained later in the chapter), and Jon Arryn resigns from the Hand of the King. To put it simply, "Just go with it." I think its going to be worth it later on. Happy Halloween, and enjoy!**

Chapter 1

"When are you going to tell her?" Loras asked, planting his hands on his hips.

"With any luck, never." Renly frowned. "Let Robert break the news to her."

"That's not fair to her. She deserves to hear it from you," Loras protested.

Renly sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How long do I have?"

There was a crinkling of parchment as Loras consulted the letter.

"Robert will be here in a few days. Once he arrives, you'd have better luck reversing the Trident than keeping it a secret from her any longer."

Alana frowned and moved closer to the keyhole. If someone caught her, there'd be little doubt as to what she was doing, but she had to know what they were talking about.

Renly shrugged. "I still don't see why I have to be the one to tell her."

"Because she's your daughter. Because she deserves to find out from someone other than her uncle who, let us not forget, attempted to seduce her before he realized who she was."

Renly smiled wistfully. "I remember that. If he wasn't the king, I would have thrown him out. She was so young..." He shook his head. "She's still so young. I won't allow it. She still has a few more years of being a child. Queen Cersei was young when she married Robert, and we see how well that ended out. As her father, I refuse to allow this."

"You'd say that to Robert? To his face?"

Renly sighed. "No, I suppose not."

"He's already made up his mind. The only reason he asked was as a courtesy. No one says no to a king." Renly didn't respond, but looked at the fire burning in the corner of the room, the only source of light other than the moon through the window. Alana had to lean to the side to see him through the key hole.

Loras rested a hand on Renly's shoulder. "You know I think of her as my child as well."

"I never did tell you about her mother, did I?" Renly asked, his mouth twisting upwards, the glow of the flames reflecting off his face. Her father never spoke of her mother.

"You were always afraid she'd find out."

"On my sixteenth name day, Robert came to Storm's end and took me to the brothel in one of the nearby towns. Said something about making a man out of me. I did exactly what he wanted me to do, laid with a whore and spent the next week disgusted with myself. He was satisfied and left shortly afterwards. It was almost a year later, just a month or two before my next name day when a woman came to the gates, holding a child bundled up in a blanket and demanding to see me, that she it was my child. It's not uncommon for the small folk to lie, ask for some coins because they birthed a babe with black hair. I nearly sent the woman away, when I saw the girl's eyes. She had my eyes." He paused. "My mother's eyes. It gave me pause. I took the babe into my home, gave her a name worthy of a lady. Any doubts I had were washed away as she grew up. That girl is a true Baratheon."

"You were her age when you fathered a bastard. It's only a matter of time until she starts to notice the looks the men give her when she walks by, until she realizes she has a woman's body and begins to wonder what it would be like to lay with a man. It's better this way. She won't be dishonored. Perhaps in time she could come to care for the Stark boy, maybe even love him."

"She deserves more than a fleeting chance at love."

"She won't get one. As much as we love her, she is still a bastard. It won't be easy to find a better match."

"There must be some way. Maybe she could join the Night's Watch," he suggested halfheartedly.

"Did you ever hear the song of Danny Flint?"

"What about the silent sisters?"

Loras moved to his side, until Alana could barely see either of them. "If you think she'd rather join the silent sisters-"

"I know. I know." Renly signed.

"When are you going to tell her?"

"Tomorrow, if the timing is right."

They dropped their voices until she could no longer hear them but for a faint whispering. She was about to leave, putting her hands on the ground to stand up, when her shoulder bumped painfully against the door the door. The heavy wood hit the frame with a loud clunking noise.

She silently cursed and held her breath, praying to the seven, the old gods, even the drowned god that her father hadn't heard the noise, rubbing her throbbing shoulder. For a pair of pounding heartbeats, there was only silence, and the sound of the fire crackling in the other room.

The door opened and Renly looked down at her. She was kneeling, her dress hiked up until it was not particularly ladylike. There was no mistaking what she was doing.

"Alana?" he asked, frowning. Whatever he had been expecting, a spy, a criminal, maybe even a servant who accidentally bumped the door, it certainly wasn't this. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

She snorted. "I'm not a child anymore, father."

Renly sighed and rubbed his temple. The place where he gets headaches, Alana thought absentmindedly. A cup of tea and a dark room makes him feel better. "It seems that everyone has decided that but me." He frowned. "What did I tell you about eavesdropping?"

"Not to do it?"

He ran his hand through his hair. "How much have you heard?"

Alana shrugged and stood up, dusting off her dress. "I know that uncle Robert is coming. And that you and Loras were talking about me."

Renly turned his head to look at the knight. Loras shot him a look. Renly sighed and looked back at her. "You might as well hear the rest. Come in." He stepped aside and motioned for her to sit down, in the chair he himself had been sitting in only a few moments ago.

It was his armchair, she realized when she sat down. He never let anyone sit in his armchair. His lord's chair, as he called it. His father, her grandfather, had used it when he was Lord of Storm's End, and whatever son her father had would use it after him. This would be the only time she used this chair.

Renly pulled up a chair in front of her, the fire to his right. Her left. He stared into the flames, not making any attempt to speak.

It was Loras who broke the silence. "Alana, there was a raven. Robert is coming to Storm's End."

She nodded. "I heard that much."

Loras pursed his lips together, but continued, "As you know, Jon Arryn is resigning from Hand of the King. He's going back to the Eyrie. Robert needs a new hand." He paused, looking at Renly, whose eyes were still fixed on the fire. "After Robert comes here, the Royal party is to head North, to Winterfell. Once they arrive, Robert intends to name Lord Stark the Hand of the King."

Alana shrugged. "I don't see how this involves me."

Renly looked up. "Robert is also going to propose an alliance between the Starks and Baratheons, cemented with a marriage. Your marriage."

Alana's mouth fell open."When was this decided?"

Renly shifted in his seat. "I was planning on telling you sometime tomorrow. Robert sent me a raven earlier today. He said Myrcella was too young. The Stark boy will be well into his twenties before she flowers. You two…" Renly's voice faltered. "You're much closer to his age."

"As you seem fond of forgetting, I am a bastard." Renly flinched at the word. "I cannot inherit anything. No matter how many times you call me Alana Baratheon, I will stay Alana Storm. If I can't inherit a castle, why should I have to marry to further your interests?" She was spitting out venom and bitterness she didn't even know she had, buried under years of being called a bastard in passing by other noble's children, like it was her fault, like she could change how she was born.

"It wasn't my decision," Renly snapped. "If you are going to spy on me, at least listen to what I say. This was Robert's idea, or maybe Jon Arryn's before he left for the Eyrie. At the very least, look at the benefits to the marriage."

"What benefits? All I can see is myself being shipped away far North so you can forget about me and your wife won't have to bear the shame of seeing your bastard daughter."

"You'll be married. A much better marriage, I might add, than anything I could manage to piece together down South. The Starks overlook bastardry more so than anyone south of the Neck."

Alana crossed her arms over her chest. "What if I refuse?"

Renly's expression darkened. "It's an order from the king. It will show the entire kingdom that we are a weak and disunified family." Not my family, Alana thought. "After you've simultaneously embarrassed me and Robert, and attracted the attention of every man in the Seven Kingdoms, we'll still have to find you a match. Since you clearly proved you have no intention of marrying, and you humiliated none other than the king himself, you'll be sent to the silent sisters, or maybe you'll become a septa." His toned softened. "You'll be the Lady of Winterfell. It's much more than you could have hoped for in any other circumstances."

Alana gritted her teeth. "May I be excused, father?" She practically spat out the word."

Renly sat back in his seat. "Fine. I don't want you leaving your room."

Alana stood and mockingly curtseyed to him, all but sprinting out of the room, her eyes stinging with tears, slamming the door behind her.

Renly sighed. "That Stark boy is going to have his hands full," he said. Loras nodded, resting his hands on Renly's shoulders. "What was his name?"

"Robb Stark," Loras said.

"That's right. Robb Stark. When did everyone decide that Alana was grown up? I was under the impression that she was still a little girl."

"We all grow up sometime."  
Renly sighed once more. "I suppose so."


End file.
